The last note had been sung.
No more did the sun gloriously shine on his heavenly throne. By and by, Helios bid farewell.
Minutes before, Apollo managed to talk to Actaeon and informed him that he needed not to fret in starting a new life on the peninsula where they were going. He told him that his house—his bloodline had survived and established well on the northeast side of the headland. "They are now waiting for your coming." He lastly stated to him.
And after a few more last words with Artemis, Apollo—the fair god of the sun and music—finally closed his eyes to an everlasting rest. A part of his prophecy was now finally fulfilled.
Piercing cries roared from Artemis's precious larynx. Her thought was veiled from judgment as she let the river flow down from her eyes. Blue became gloomy, only seeing death and misery.
She became a child in her sorrows, bawling and wailing in search of comfort. She could not be stopped. However, Actaeon's patience was a gift as he slowly cradled the weeping goddess and whispered words that might bring her relief.
"It is alright, Your Grace." The loyal Actaeon delicately comforted her. "It is alright."
The goddess did not say anything as her spirit never permitted—only letting the droplets of tears reveal her sorrows.
Under the lone olive tree, there laid Apollo—a humble grave for a god who had lived in divinity and opulence.
After offering a yellow rose on top of the dead god's burial, Artemis could no longer hold her mourning and broke down to the ground, screaming and scratching the earth until her dainty fingers bled. Her grace and poise disposition were chained to the depths of her soul as she let lose and be hurt by the sharp fragments of her broken heart.
Actaeon offered his comfort again but ended up ignored. Artemis paid no heed to any open arms, throwing a hard fit of pique. Hands were thrown to the soil, chorusing along with the rage of Gaia.
"Live! Live!" Artemis screamed like a little girl calling out to her dead brother. "Please—live—" She cried more.
Her loyal servant could feel his heartbreak as he gazed at the goddess, who now fell defeated by grief and sorrow. "Artemis, please—" In a slow voice, Actaeon called her. "I cannot bear to see you like this."
"Go—go away!" She wailed in between sobs.
"No!" By his defiance, the man rushed to her and aggressively carried her away from the grave. "I said stop!" Actaeon shook her, restraining her by the arms as he said, "I do not want to see you like this—so does Apollo! The Artemis we knew is as beautiful and graceful as a dove and never weep like a deranged lady."
"Don't ever tell me how to act!" She countered, pushing him away. "You—you cannot stop my tears. These tears were for my dear brother with whom I shared my life! You do not know the meaning of grief! You do not know half the pain of it!"
"Oh, I got my fair share of grief, Your Grace. I died and lived as a stag for many years, not even having the moment to bid farewell to my parents. So, did I have my own grieve? Yes."
Their eyes then met—blue orbs absorbed by the deepness of his hazel ones. For the first time, Artemis felt short—a wee young babe who needed the dependence of someone more proficient.
Her doe gaze never left his, seeing something behind those hazel eyes that she had not understood before. What was it? What were those eyes telling her?
For all the seconds she had been studying him, Artemis suddenly felt a little repentance sprouting inside her heart.
"I—" She mindlessly uttered, feeling the words having a mind of its own. But pretty tears, glistening like pearls, rolled down on her cheeks, prompting the goddess to be stiff from the sensation she was suddenly feeling.
In response, Actaeon wiped those droplets with his thumbs and quietly said, "I will keep my promise to Apollo. I will never leave your side. No matter how many more times you curse me, push me away—a promise is a promise."
Without any second thoughts, Artemis leaned into his chest and cried away those bitter and painful tears until none was left. Strong arms then snaked around her, coiling her in an embrace that, once again, offered warmth and comfort.
Yet, their tranquil moment fell short as the earth made it clear she no longer favored goodwill and merry memories. The ground on their feet cracked—another rumbling was running havoc on Hellas.
And not waiting for any reaction, Actaeon immediately did his job and carried the goddess away from the place as stones began to gain speed. Artemis was flabbergasted, letting only the eyes beamed to the whole ordeal.
As Actaeon ran in haste, the distance between them and Apollo's grave was getting farther—blending the picturesque into a thin line on the horizon.
Artemis's frail body began to respond to the situation as she convulsed and started to run amok again.
"No—no, no! Apollo!" Artemis reached out while Actaeon firmly held her.
"No, my lady! We cannot stop now."
"My—my brother needs me! Unhand me!" She scolded.
But Actaeon never did.
He continued to run and sprinted away from the rolling boulders and falling trees that caused an obstacle in their way. It was truly a pity to hear her unsatisfied sobs, but the man had to do what he needed to do. Apollo's pleas should not fall in vain.
"I'm sorry, my lady." He sincerely uttered as he gave her a gentle rub on the back.
The goddess of the hunt refused to be the failure, yet her fragile soul was crushed, and her heart shattered into a thousand pieces. Her body finally admitted defeat, slumping away on Actaeon's shoulder, and continued crying those unsaid farewells to her dear Apollo.
"Farewell, my brother. I will see you soon." She whispered as the lone olive tree vanished from the distance and eyes closed in on the scenes before her.
***
Aloneness and ominous went hand in hand above her.
Loud moans echoed throughout her environment.
A cold little breeze pinched through her skin.
The scent of wet soil and sulfur lingered, causing a disruptive reaction from the passed-out goddess.
Once the sounds blared right through her ears and the ground violently trembled, silver eyes bolted from her slumber.
"What?" Athena gasped, surprised to realize such familiar darkness. "Where am I?" She pondered while slowly rising from her resting position.
After gaining enough vigor, Athena explored the area, touching every inch of the walls, feeling the ground on her foot, and smelling the scent that dawdled onto what felt like moss on rocks.
"Wait, is this the cave?" She, at last, discovered.
But despite what seemed like a never-ending darkness, a light illuminated through at the end. It was the opening. Athena then hurriedly scrambled and walked towards it, ignoring the sickness and weight her body suddenly gained.
As the goddess was about to reach the opening, following her decision to escape the low-spirited place, the earthquake grew more aggressive—permitting her not to take more steps. But Athena pursued, holding on to her will to be free from the place she once considered a home. The cave that had sheltered her from the wickedness of the elements was now something she despised.
Betrayal was something that pierced through her deeply. Fists were clenched, and nails bore down to her palms—puncturing deeply that a crevasse would form. Her eyes glared at the distant light with knotted brows as her anger boiled beneath. "Ares must be ceased." She deeply thought once she remembered what he had declared. She must find him before Hellas would be nothing but ash and rubble.
Nevertheless, what Apollo had said forbade her to do her will. "There is nothing we could do but to let it all be." The sentence was ringing in her head.
"Oh, dear—I cannot let that be. Many will suffer." Athena mumbled as she gritted her teeth.
Her heart soared for a second, and her brows furrowed more as she took slow steps in defeating the phenomenon that petrified her. Stubbornness bloomed in her head, desiring to overturn the prophecy of Ares's ascension.
"If I was the favored one, and so shall be it," Athena exclaimed once she finally reached the mouth of the cave.